


A Brief Paws Before Breakfast

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Jasper Sitwell, Canon-Typical Violence, Cyborgs, Gen, I Believe in Jasper Sitwell, Missions Gone Wrong, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2059764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jasper deals with a dog's dinner of a training mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brief Paws Before Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer ~ Marvel's toys, not mine. I'm just playing with them. (And I treated this one a lot better than they did.)
> 
> We're just going to ignore what they did to Jasper in CA:TWS, okay? Okay.
> 
> For Truxillogical. I hope you like it!

 

"What's left of the hostiles are converging on your location, Command. Might want to shake your asses."

Barton's voice over the comms was bland, almost lazy, filled with his customary hint of a smirk, but after years of working with the man, Jasper could hear the concern under it. The junior agents they were working with would not.

Shoving away from the monitors that filled the mobile command center, Jasper took a look out the small window and swore in a quiet, rapid mixture of English and Spanish.

The two junior techs with him stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Stay here," he ordered, and then changed his mind. They were techs, and completely untested in any kind of combat. "No -- Patel, leave the monitoring to Wilkinson, Hawkeye's got it under control anyway. You get in the driver's seat, and get the fuck out of here."

"We can't leave you here, sir -- "

"Are you unaccustomed to following orders, Agent Wilkinson?" Jasper snapped, pulling out his sidearm to check the clip. He grabbed several extra clips from the small weapons locker in the back of the surveillance and command truck and shoved them in his pockets.

The young man swallowed, his face pale. "No, sir. I mean -- I -- "

"Say, 'yes, sir, Agent Sitwell.'" Jasper shrugged out of his suit jacket and yanked his tie off.

"Y-yes, sir, Agent Sitwell."

"Good. Now, go. Clear out, and Hawkeye and I will contain the threat and rendezvous with Diaz and Bell. You two are not to come back until the threat has been neutralized. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," they chorused as he jumped out the back of the truck, sidearm in hand, slamming the door shut behind him.

"We'll get it done, Sitwell, don't worry your pretty bald head over it."

Jasper didn't risk taking his hand off his weapon to reply, but Barton saw -- of course he did -- Jasper's middle finger twitch on the grip, and he laughed. Of all the people to have with him when things went to shit, Barton was in the top three.

Their mission had been devised as a quick training run for the newly promoted agents and techs, simple recon on a Dr. Stanley Youngman, whose recent work in cybernetics had raised all sorts of alarms at SHIELD. Unfortunately, Youngman had spotted Bell and panicked, freeing his experiments as he rushed to cover his escape, and it turned out that his probably theoretical small army of cyborg canines was a lot more than theoretical, and not exactly small, numbering in the dozens.

Jasper could hear Patel scrambling into the driver's seat and he breathed more easily when the truck pulled away, though the sudden chasm at his back made him twitch. What was left of the army of robodogs Barton had been picking off was trotting up the alley toward him, and he was thankful the industrial district they had been conducting surveillance in was practically deserted this time of night.

There were about three dozen dogs left, all sizes and breeds, their eyes glowing in a variety of colors. They stopped about twenty yards from him, growling warily, the smaller ones yapping with bravado.

Jasper didn't take his eyes off them. "Diaz, Bell, are you clear?"

"Holding position 200 yards to the east, at your six, sir," Bell's deep voice came back.

"Hawkeye and I are going to take out as many as we can. If they get past us, your job is to take out the stragglers. We can't let them get any farther out into the city, understood?"

"Yes, sir," they replied, Diaz' voice a quiet chime under the booming bass of Bell's.

Jasper aimed carefully and took out a couple of the bigger dogs in front. They collapsed quietly, the dogs around them snarling and jockeying for position around the bodies. He'd feel sorry for killing them, but all the intel SHIELD had gathered so far showed they were no longer anything but mindless attack machines. The monstrous way Youngman had cobbled them together made it a mercy to put them down.

There were a couple of pained yelps as two more dogs went down, sparks flying as Barton's arrows hit vital cybernetic components. The dogs, confused by the attacks coming from more than one direction, were growling and snapping at each other.

"Wish I'd'a thought to bring some of the EMP arrows R&D's been working on," Barton drawled. "That'd wrap things up quick."

Barton wasn't using his explosive arrows either -- the alley was too narrow, and explosives would risk damaging or bringing down the buildings around them. Jasper knew Barton was keeping them as a last resort; if they couldn't end this with bullets and broadheads, explosives would have to do the trick.

"Fucking training missions," Jasper muttered, still working to thin out the pack.

"It's always the training missions," Barton laughed, even as another couple dogs went down. He was taking out the bigger ones, it appeared. "Bet someone called it a milk run."

Jasper took down two more dogs -- one of the bigger ones, and a little yappy one that was getting on his damn nerves.

"No one did that because no one would be that much of a dumbass, right, team? No one called our little training mission a milk run, did they? Because everyone knows that's the surest way to turn a simple mission to shit. Right?"

The silence over the comms was thick with guilt, and Jasper swore as he nailed another two dogs.

"Sorry, sir," Wilkinson said, his voice wobbly. "I just said that training missions were usually milk runs, and we'd be home for breakfast."

"And for that," Jasper grunted, taking out another three dogs and then ejecting the empty clip, "You're buying us all breakfast. And I'm not talking IHOP either, Agent Wilkinson. Shit!"

His curse was echoed by Barton as the dogs suddenly charged Jasper. Barely having enough time to slam a new clip into place, he fired until they were on him, arrows flying around him faster than he could register. There was no one but Barton he'd trust not to hit him in this situation.

By the time the pack got to him, there were less than a dozen left, but they were relentless, and he had no time to change his clip. He used his weapon as a blunt object, aiming for eyes and throats with his elbows and fists, and kicking out at mostly soft underbellies, but they jumped at him, snarling, jaws snapping, glowing eyes gleaming.

Teeth and claws tore at his clothes and skin, and he swore, fighting down the panicked response that said to turn his back on them and run. That way surely lay death.

He kicked and punched, and his world was filled with snarling and growling and yelping, and the ones he shoved away from him, Barton quickly put down.

There were three left, and then two, and then only one. It jumped at him, eyes afire, spittle flying from its half-metallic jaws, and Jasper bit back a scream as its teeth closed around his forearm. Swearing and spinning with it, he brought it to the ground with his full weight on top of it, and it yelped and let go of his arm.

Ignoring the throbbing agony of the bite, he wrapped his hands around its neck, the skin of his palms shredding on the cybernetic implants embedded in the dog's skeleton. It bucked, snarling and snapping, but he gave a quick twist, and it yelped and went limp.

All was quiet.

He knelt on the filthy pavement, panting, blood sliding down his arm and dripping from his hands.

The silence was shattered by a piercing wolf-whistle over the comms.

"That's a good look on you, Sitwell, you should always wear your shirt that way. Highlights the smokin' body you're hiding under those suits."

His shirt was hanging in shreds, his trousers ripped in a dozen places. "Goddammit, I liked this suit."

"You've been working out, I guess, huh? 'Bout time. All those gourmet dinners had you lookin' a little paunchy."

"Fuck off, Hawkeye," he retorted, and Barton laughed. Wiping his palms in the remains of his shirt, Jasper added, "Youngman still down?"

Barton snorted. "He got the full dose of tranq -- he'll be down till we go pick his sorry ass up. I'm just pissed he released the hounds before I could tag him."

There was the sound of rapid footsteps from the east, and Jasper tensed, relaxing when Diaz and Bell came running toward him, weapons at the ready.

The truck came flying up the alley and skidded to a stop a dozen feet from Jasper. He staggered to his feet as the driver's door and the back doors slammed open and Patel and Wilkinson jumped out, their eyes wide.

Jasper raised a throbbing hand to point at Wilkinson, who flinched. "Call for cleanup. We're going to pick up Youngman and bring him in, and I'm going to get cleaned up, and then you are buying me the best goddamn french toast in fifty miles. I'm going to spend at least an hour researching to find it."

"I know a place that soaks brioche bread in crème brûlée mixture overnight for their french toast," Diaz offered, and Jasper raised an eyebrow. "It's amazing."

"That's not french toast, it's cake," Bell argued.

"I don't care what you call it," Jasper snapped, "we're having that. With bacon. So much bacon."

"All the bacon," Barton agreed with a grunt, clearly making his way down from his perch.

Jasper motioned toward the truck, and they all piled in. He slumped on one of the benches in the back and rested his head against the side panel as Patel jumped back behind the wheel and Wilkinson called for a cleanup crew.

"You look like you survived a zombie apocalypse, sir," Diaz said as she rummaged through the truck's first aid kit.

Jasper raised a finger. "Do not give the universe ideas, Agent Diaz. Damn, I need a vacation. I do _not_ get paid enough for this shit."

"Just think of the delicious breakfast cake in your near future," Barton said, the smirk clear in his voice.

Jasper closed his eyes and did exactly that.

**END**

 

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to everyone who helped me and supported me while I was working on this fic, especially Maquis Leader for finally setting me on the right track, Orderlychaos for the read-through, and Amireal for the title and some choice lines.


End file.
